he thinks they’re cute and he waves with his money”

—Dirty Willy by the Lords of Acid

So it’s a warmish late winter day, the sun is flirting with breaking through the clouds, the temperature is nearing 50 a proverbial heat wave in comparison to the long dark winter we’ve had.  For once I wasn’t on a flying penis terrorizing some other city or sliding through the shadows of the clubs and restaurants in the name of greed, power, and excess that so very much defines my life.

On this particular day I was home and the Chesty Blonde had asked me to pick up our youngest from school between meetings and calls. So there I am in the parking lot of where I send my money but so rarely visit surrounded by the other parents.  I hid in the Blonde’s black car with the dark windows waiting for 30 minutes to pass until school let out.

The first disruption was when my favorite Brooklyn transplant whipped open the passenger door and unceremoniously flung her sexy little ass and huge tits in front seat next to me.  Sadly she was disappointed I wasn’t the Blonde and they couldn’t chat.  During our last encounter at a Nilla party she tried to get me to flinch in a game oh so you think you can talk dirty.  I loved watching her face as I went line by line right there with her building up into a torrid fury of pure utter graphic verbal filth.  Her husband hugged me afterwards and offered to pay me for lessons since he claimed she had never encountered anyone with less boundaries or a dirtier mouth than hers.  Ahh if lucky boy only really knew where my boundaries were I laughed to myself.   Telling him the key to being good at it is the fact that I was in willing to act out every single suggestion I made to her right then and there.   Since then she has given me a wide berth and a few minutes later she left almost as unannounced as she arrived.   I was as the saying goes I sad to see her go but I do love to watch her leave as she strutted in those always present dangerously high heels and curve hugging jeans.  Simply put and reverting back to my shallow catch phrase of my youth “I’d really like to hurt that.”

About 5 minutes before the assault plaid clothed kids who have just been given back a few minutes of their youth back began I made my way to the flag pole where Lilly told me to meet her.  Like her father Lil is a creature of habit when it comes to some things. Where to meet after school is one of apparently one of those things.

As I dragged my a little too chicly dressed ass into the light of day and across the parking lot  there was an obvious demographic split.  Sure there were the Mommy vans, the sedans, and the SUV set but more than cars and money there was an obvious split in the women’s social patterns almost exclusively based on body type.  There was the grandparents set and most of the men there were tradesmen except for the few business geeks and Doctor’s who slip away to pick up the kids.  The men for the most part were loners keeping their distance and feeling no need for social interaction beyond a passing nod.  The women were huddled in small packs but what was most striking was there were those who were glaring harshly at the other set and there were the groups that if this was Greek mythology would have been classified as Nymphs.

Those who were glaring had shorter hair on average, not long flowing locks, no sporty pony tails and frankly they were less fit in a physical sense that when added to an unapproachable disposition.  They silently exhibited a demeanor that made my balls crawl 6 inches up my ass explained way to much in 30 seconds of observation for me to ignore.  I always find social interactions so interesting and I do know it’s the whole birds of a feather thing but in truth as I walked like a wounded zebra through a pack of cougars they eyed me with the same discerning predators eye that I had as I approach them picking my line to the aforementioned Flag Pole.   It became clear why the flag pole was the place to be.  It’s where I spotted the Blonde’s friends and was greeted with a series of casual hello’s, several hugs, and a few kisses.    Apparently after being greeted by a few I was deemed socially acceptable by the rest of the pack and not some meandering worthless gigolo since others then began to approach and introduce themselves.  Frankly the Blonde is very friendly and a genuinely nice person, she can talk to anyone anywhere.  I’m far more reserved with new people so I wasn’t surprised to meet additional acquaintances of hers.

I watched the other groups watching us what can I say I’m a bit of a voyeur myself and as they talked and glared in our general direction I could only imagine what they were saying to each other.  I did though imagine it to be very judgmental and not all that nice just based on my experience of human nature.  What I noticed about the group I was with is they were not at all concerned with the others sort of like animals in the zoo who are used to being leered and gawked at.   They were living their lives making plans to have lunch, go to the gym, for the fundraiser a few weekends off, and arranging play dates and sleepovers with merry abandon. Perhaps it is a by product of always being pretty, of always being noticed, and of being confident enough about who they were that there was more to life than that now. It was that confidence that made them all the more alluring.

One little number stood uncomfortably close and tried to pry the details of our last Vegas get away out of me.  “Oh that was months ago and besides what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas but if you come with us next time I can show you first hand”   Brooklyn was grinning wickedly just a few feet away at the fact that another fly had flown into my web.  The little blond was playing with fire and had no clue how hot things could really get.  These women were just being who they are, sure some were fake, a few were catty but most were just lucky enough to seem to have it all together even if it was just on the outside.  They were cursed with being pretty and having taken care of themselves.  Some were sinners, I’m sure a few were saints, and most were just regular people.

Ahh there are two things I hope I never forget First the joy I use to feel when the last bell of the school day rang and I got to be a free person no longer part of others silly rules and roles.  Secondly that some times it is just great to be the best looking member of the opposite sex in a group of beautiful people even if I was the only male on that given occasion.

Lilly sprinted out amazed her somewhat distracted father could actually find and remember to stand by the giant flag pole.  As I bid the beautiful Nymphs good day and made by way back past the gawkers, rocking my dark jeans, black shoes, my custom slim fit dress shirt and Marc Jacobs jacket I guess in my own way jumping in to the blacked out black sedan I waved with my money.  Then again after all every there writes the same checks I do. Most just don’t have enough balls to the wave to the cougars and call them Honey!   Then again the size of my balls have never been called into question, the size of my brain?  Well that’s another matter.

So here you have it folks the latest episode of exercising my demons just in time for fuck me is the ass day.  Oopps wrong day Valentines day.  Same difference really.  Below you’ll find the transcript of this episode and to listen of course just click on the snazzy pickle player on the right or subscribe to the podcast on itunes.

Mistress Victoria’s Intro

Welcome Back to Exercising my Demons I’m Mistress Victoria and I’ll be hosting this episode which is not only the valentine’s day edition but is also the first installment of his lingerie tales series which is the retelling of age old classic malfic experiences as they really happened.  As the saying goes truth is stranger than fiction

Intro

Having not seen Mal in quite a while but getting to spend a little time with him a few weeks back made really remember how shameless the man is.  Whether it was his cavorting with a tall and leggy blonde from Kansas or the unapologetic interaction with a sultry little Russian number who was sporting her ample cleavage and torn fishnet stockings.  He really has a unique gift of being able to make anyone feel completely at home with him or hellishly uncomfortable so often just with a look and a few words.   A fact he demonstrated by making the poor waitress at a little Mexican place blush just by the way he looked into her eyes.  And she was no mousy little thing.  Then there was the devils grin as we walked past the front desk of his hotel when he asked the young ladies working there if they’d like to join us.  While they politely passed on the opportunity they already knew him by name and he’s only been in town for four hours.

So how does one get like that?  Perhaps events like this are what helped to make him into who he is.  So sit back relax, let your imagination run wild and so we begin Lingerie Tales.  An obsession begins.

Malflic

So there is a defining moment that sets things in our minds as important and interesting or not.  I was a child of the 80′s and Lingerie was front and center in so much of the pop culture during those formative years.   Madonna strutting around with her bra showing and what 13 year old could forget her rolling around on TV in a white lace wedding dress exposing her garters and stockings.  Of course there was Prince and his seemingly endless line of  sexy lingerie clad women.   Gett Off is still one of my favorite songs and videos.  Not to mention my seemingly unrestricted access to the holy grail of seductive women; Playboy.   While my friends were all jerking off to the Penny’s catalog lingerie section I had access to the best nudie mags of the day.  What can I say I was a fast study with the right connections. By modern standards I suppose its all fairly demure now.

Sure it was a White Snake video that emblazoned the thong in to my psyche but the for me personally there was always something about Sexy Lingerie from early puberty on that held my attention.   Ironically I’d have to say it had nothing to do with any of these things that truly created my lasting interest in women’s undergarments.

No in my case it was not Rock and Roll, Movies, TV, or even Laura who was 2 years older than me drove a White and Orange 5o’s Chevy hot road and wore her Catholic High School uniform so daringly short you could catch a glimpse of ass and lace if she had her full out strut on or her Lace cuffed shirt white socks and scuffed up heels that made me what I am.   Instead it was a boring Thursday night at the local mall.

In this case I’d like to say that it was Jenny’s fault.   It was a boring Thursday afternoon we were both 17 and had been around the block more than a few times.  In fact my block included a few dark alleys, some questionable city streets and a few memorable moments worthy of their own story.

She asked me to go to the mall.  We were friends but nothing more.  Later in life until she married her second husband and some one inquired about the “nature” of our relationship my standard line was “I Love her, she looks great in thigh high stockings and bent over a sofa, but there’s no way in hell. She’s all yours.”   I meant every word of that with the the utmost sincerity.

At the time she was dating a guy I had come to be friends with.   He didn’t see me as a threat which was rare for a man that age, any guy not threatened by me was just fine.  She conned me into going to the mall.  I showed up at her house.  He dad who was a saint in more ways than one welcomed me in.  She as usual wasn’t quite ready so I sat in the kitchen talking.  When he asked what we were looking for at the mall I had to admit I didn’t have a clue.  45 minutes later we end up at a mall across town instead of the one by her place and she’s leading me into a Lingerie store.

At this point I knew I liked lace, teddies were all the rage back then in the circles I ran.   Chemises and baby dolls didn’t have the same luster as a tight fitting bodice and crotch that could be unsnapped with one’s teeth.  My Journey into the leather, rubber and the fetish scene was already in progress.  However I digress.

I looked at her and eventually she explained why she brought me along.  She wanted to buy a new out fit for her boyfriend and after much explanation she admitted he said “Just get something Michael would like.”

Later I learned that he knew I was going and didn’t care.   Even then I was a pretty open guy but having my girlfriend picking out and modeling new lingerie with another boy might have been a bit much for me at that time.

“What about this” she said holding up a pink sheer bra and bikini panties.  I shrugged, she held on to them.   Then onto the satin and silk stuff, more panties the skimpier the better it seemed.   Making a few selections all while the older suburbanites eyed me like the plague and did everything but call out Slut at her.  At one point I think the sales clerk assumed I was gay since I kept commenting on the quality and construction of the lingerie.   Probably not the most seemingly straight thing to do in 1987.  If there was one thing I knew that could be useful it was quality fabric and good tailoring, a by product of my environment as a kid.  I’m still a quality whore who looks at  fabric quality first, Construction second and brand third before buying anything.

Jenny filled her arms. The lingerie store clerk was a pretty little brunette who might just have been the type to catch my interest held a wide array of panties and bras, a few teddies and even a couple of longish sheer and satin night gowns near the dressing room.

Let the exhibitionism begin.  Should have been announced over the the in store public address system as I sat on a faux pinkish burgundy bench just across from the dressing room.   I watched  the dressing room door close, I could still see mid calf down as she kicked off her heels, then her jeans hit the floor unceremoniously, it was all I expected to see but a few moments later she called out my name, asking if anybody was around and after being told not really swung the door open to reveal her soft white skin clad in a matching bra and panty set.  She smiled, she moved a little, she turned around. Ask what I thought but as she stood there in almost nothing the one thing she didn’t do was blush.

Modesty was not a trait the girl had.  The show continued with different out fits, a strut a pose, a wiggle and a bend as she played along masterfully and loving every minute of it.  The long sheer nighties gave me the creeps. They seemed like something someone 20 years older than her might wear. The cheek baring burgundy number with the unlined bra top was a favorite but the most memorable was the first one she picked out.  The sheer soft pink against her alabaster shin walked the fine line of something that was beautiful in the classic sense, it fit her curves, it teased with muted glimpses of her dark red bush.  Even now when I think of her standing there, red hair flowing, a not so innocent grin, and the dressing room door half ajar time stops for a split second.

It must have been more than an hour from start to finish.  It may have been the first time but it certainly wasn’t the last.  It became a cornerstone of our excessively odd relationship for years and years.

I’ve shopped for lingerie in countless places with a wide assortment of people from lovers to friends since then but it was never quite the same.

Men came and went from her life, women came and went in mine and for the better part of a decade the phone would ring and she’d ask “are you ready to go shopping?”.  Nothing more needed to be said.

Mistress Victoria Outro

Usually Mal’s not the type to kiss and tell but I can certainly say that the woman in this story has had a lasting impression on him in many ways.  She really was a part of his everyday worlds for years and years and in his own twisted and unspoken way really cared about her.   Which brings us to the conclusion of this episode so no matter who it is or why you care about them remember its Valentine’s day this week end.  So do something special for someone you love, lust after, or play with.  The hotter and the dirtier the better…well unless they’re a nilla.

So it’s dark out. How dark you ask? So dark that god damn moon hasn’t even begun to give way to the light of day, still dark enough to be called night even though soon it will be very early morning.

How early in the morning is it? Early enough that I moved past various security guards and national safety personnel who did their jobs without even a single word, syllable or grunt. It was early enough that I couldn’t feed my addictions, not even a little bit and the demons of countless sleepless nights were haunting me with all their might and I was on the edge of giving up the ghost and moving from a well dressed zombie to a member of the disheveled uncaring and hopeless living dead.

Walking down the freezing cold and dimly lit corridor, the question of how one ever gets to this point in anything, let alone day to day life occurs again. It nags like a fatal disease that hasn’t quite announced its horrific arrival yet. Lurking there waiting and ultimately squeezing out the last bit of hope from your very life.

Rounding the corner, breaking the threshold and heading into the brightly lit oblong chamber I make my way to the designating resting space, cursing profanely and audibly the brightness, every step, and my own very existence as I take my seat.

Then it begins, at a deafening volume breaking the tomb like silence that is the only blissful thing at that moment. “GOOD MORNING MY NAME IS JILL” Jill continues to blither on other pleasantries. After a few second reprieve the voice is again breaking the silence I am cherishing with all my being despite the blinding light which I’ve muted out with dark shades and closed eyes. A seemingly frivolous effort considering that it is still only slightly less dark out.

“Again good morning this is Jill and in a few moments…”

Jill is a bold face liar, how do I know this because there was no pardon from the blaring voice projecting her love of life and duties she continues on

“in the event of an emergency…” I pray that your voice is not the last one I hear. She continues on.

“in the event of a water landing” I’m dead no one survives those now please shut the fuck up.

She didn’t not announce “We will be dimming the cabin lights” and so god is mocking me yet again. No instead of that announcement she introduces the rest of her accomplices yet again and a few minutes after leaving mother earth the soliloquy begins.

“due to the short duration of this flight” Jill has decided she in going to read me a list of each and every available beverage known to man and then highlight the ones she actually has by reading those selections again.

“the following are your snack options….and “ you have nothing available for purchase that resembles food quit lying to me again you dishonest person.

Normally I don’t hate the beginning of any day just because it is beginning today however I despise the fact that the day exists to begin with.

Ding “we have passed ten thousand feet and” I pray to God, the Devil, Buddha, Allah, three ex-girlfriends, my second grade teacher, and the witches of Eastwick begging each and every one them with impassioned and devoted pleas to just make her stop.

But no life hates me and sleep is not something I will get to partake in then

Squeak , Squeak, Bang…Jill physically assaults me with her shiny metal wheeled box like implement of torture…it was not physical contact that was welcome. I am contemplating both legal action and professional psychiatric help because of the distress it has caused me. Odds are though since I’m still relatively young my hand and arm should heal nicely with enough rest, unlike the old man’s toes who I believe her pleasant cheeriness and efficient motions may have physically severed from his body.

During the time that the aforementioned Jill was spilling her joy and cheer on other unsuspecting souls Captain Ahab indulged his long ago hidden dream of wanting to be both a weatherman while finally helping to feed my addition and a comedian. I despise him even more than Jill since his position of authority and very literal control over whether I live or die necessitated that I listen to him on some level…just incase.

“We will be arriving” escape, the sweet smell of freedom sits a mere 100 miles in the distance. Ahh fooled again by her deceit and lies…we are not near our destination

“If you’ve not arrived here before it is a 25-32 minute walk”

Who cares I have no intention of walking that far

“Should you chose not to walk on such a beautiful morning”

How long was that walk again. Hmm wonder if she factored in thing like dragging a recently dismembered body along with you?”

“We will be” hiding your body in a forward storage compartment. Seriously can anyone really love anything as much as she does.

“Hi this is Jill again.” No shit Sherlock

“It’s has been my pleasure spending my morning with you and I look forward to seeing all of you again” Jill I know your face and should I ever see you again I may opt to take a different flight for the sake of my own sanity…unless of course it’s in a dark alley…then it may be a far less pleasant alternative.